


Five Times Owen Harper Didn't Shag Ianto Jones (And One Time He Did)

by tardisjournal



Category: Torchwood
Genre: 5 Things, Cranky!Owen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn With Plot, Slash, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisjournal/pseuds/tardisjournal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Owen Harper Didn't Shag Ianto Jones (And One Time He Did)

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: References to S1.11--"Combat", S1.12--"Captain Jack Harkness", S2.13--"End of Days", S2.4--"Meat"
> 
> Competed January 12, 2012

Owen Harper, Medical Officer of Torchwood Three, was determined to get an early start, so he entered the Hub just before dawn and headed straight for the nautilus steps that lead to his autopsy room. There had been so much crap coming through the Rift lately that he'd barely had time to label and store his alien samples before the Team was off again, scanners and guns in hand, to deal with another threat. Today he was eager to get some of those samples under a microscope, for his professional instincts were telling him that answers to some of the mysteries that had been plaguing them might be revealed if he just had a chance to...

"What the bloody hell!" Owen cried, catching sight of what was transpiring down below. He turned his head away so fast it'd be lucky he didn't have whiplash later.

"Good morning!" His boss, Jack Harkness, was standing at one end of the autopsy table and sounded positively cheerful. As well he might.

Owen edged down the steps, still looking away. "That's way more of Ianto than I needed to see first thing in the morning," he muttered. "And for that matter, you too, Jack."

"Nonsense. There's no such thing!"

Owen made it to the base of the stairs and stood there, watching them out the corner of his eye, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"This is so fucking inappropriate I don't even know where to begin." Owen was aware of the irony that he, the self-proclaimed playboy of Torchwood and the all-around king of inappropriate, was lecturing his boss about sexual etiquette. But this was his workroom, goddamn it.

"Oh, don't be so prim, Owen. It doesn't suit you. Want to have a go?"

"Jack!" This was Ianto, who finally seemed to come out of whatever blissful haze he was lost in to realize that he was on his hands and knees on a table in the middle of the Autopsy Room. And that Owen was present.

"Ah, come on now, Ianto. It's only fair. It IS his table, after all."

To Owen's horror, Teaboy seemed to be considering it.

"True," he finally replied, tone as bland as tapioca.

Owen wasn't sure if they were having a laugh at his expense, but the alternative was far weirder, so he was going with the joke angle. He put up his hands, backed up a step. "Very funny. And by that I mean, not funny at all!"

Jack flashed him a wolfy smile.

They had to be kidding. So why was he practically running back up the stairs?

"Tell you what, mates. I'm getting coffee. And I'm going to keep on getting it until I see you both upstairs with your clothes ON. And make sure you clean up my table before you do!"

Jack's laughter followed him up the stairs into the Hub.

\---- ---- ---- ----

ii.

The light coming through the window was strange. It was the soft morning light of winter in Cardiff, true, but the angle was wrong, somehow.

But it was morning, Ianto was sure of that. He had an internal clock that was as accurate as the vintage timepieces of which he was so fond. It had to be about eight a.m., so why was it so dark in the room?

Ianto raised his head and tried to sit up, but groaned as pain ricocheted from one ear to the other and a wave of dizziness washed over him. He dropped back onto the pillow and took stock of the situation as best he could with his eyes clamped shut. The sheets and pillowcase felt wrong. They were too silky to be his favorite Egyptian cotton. They were also quite cool, almost chilly, which he could tell because he was only wearing boxers.

What the hell?

He heard a familiar voice to his left.

"You're awake. About time." The bed descended as someone rested his weight on the left side, and Ianto fought down a seasick feeling. "How are you?"

"Massive headache. Sore all over." He searched his memory for what had caused this predicament, but he could find nothing after leaving the Hub in the late afternoon (the day before?) to respond to a report of suspicious activity.

"Owen. Where are we?" Ianto licked his lips, which felt dry. Headache, dizziness, blackout... this wasn't good. He'd had nights like this before, and they had never ended well.

"My flat."

Owen's flat? Owen's BED?

"Oh my god! Did we...?" Ianto gasped.

"What? No!"

"Thank heavens," Ianto murmured.

"You could be a bit more grateful to the man who saved your life. And brought you to his own flat to get sorted."

The caustic undertone in Owen's voice was familiar, at least. Reassuring even.

"What happened? Why am I here and not in the med bay?"

"Because you decided play the hero and take on two Weevils at once without ever noticing the thug lurking behind you with the two-by-four. Long story short, you got clobbered, and right after you went down, we got an emergency alert from across town. It was quicker for the Team to drop you and me off here than the Hub."

"Weevils," Ianto mused. That sounded plausible, though he still couldn't remember. "And thugs? More of your Fight Club friends, Owen?"

"Nah. Just some stupid teenage gangbangers who went looking for trouble and got a little more than they bargained for when the Weevils turned up."

"But why did they attack me?"

"The bastards attacked anything that moved. Friend, foe, alien, it was all the same to them."

"I see. Is everyone all right?"

"The Weevils aren't. They're dead. And there are a bunch of punks who will wake with up lot of bumps and bruises and no memory of last night. Nothing new by the looks of that lot, though."

"I meant the _Team_ , Owen."

"Barely a scratch to between us. Aside from yourself, of course."

Ianto nodded, then groaned as pain roared through his head again.

"I'm dying, aren't I?"

Owen snorted. "Of course not. Luckily for you, you've got a hard head. I don't think you're even concussed. It probably feels like you're dying but trust me, you're not."

There was a long pause.

"Thank you," Ianto murmured.

Owen rose quickly. "Right. Let's get you some more pain meds. And some breakfast."

\---- ---- ---- ----

iii.

It wasn't what Tosh had had in mind when she'd asked Owen to play pool sometime, but she had taken his suggestion and gamely forged ahead with the First Ever Torchwood Pool Tournament anyway.

Torchwood being Torchwood, nothing worked out as planned.

It wasn't Tosh's fault. She'd checked the Rift Activity Predictor and chosen a night that was likely to be quiet. She'd given plenty of notice to the entire Team and double and triple-checked to make sure everyone was aware of the date, time and place. The venue itself was a nearby pub with a pool table in a separate room, and Tosh had given the manager a hefty monetary incentive (which she'd write off on her expense account) to make sure they'd have the pool room to themselves that night.

The evening in question, she shut down her workstation and packed up her things to go. Then she switched on her comm. "Guys..." she began.

"We KNOW," came a chorus of voices from all over the Hub.

"See you soon, then" she replied, smiling to herself. They might be annoyed, but at least no one could say that they forgot. She hurried home to get changed.

 

The always-punctual Ianto was the first to arrive. He got a bottle of beer and found his way to the room where the pool table was. He made himself comfortable on a stool, took a sip of beer and then pulled out his PDA. No sense in wasting downtime.

When Tosh showed up a few minutes later, she first thought a stranger was crashing their party. Then she did a double-take and realized who it was.

Ianto had lost his work drag and was clad in a pair of worn, well-fitting jeans, a casual white button-down shirt with some sort of blue print on it, and equally worn trainers. She barely recognized him. How long had it been since they'd socialized outside of work, anyway? Any of them? Maybe this was a better idea than Owen even knew.

"Ianto! You look so..." her voice trailed off. _"Young,"_ she was thinking, but figured that might be insulting. _"Cute,"_ also came to mind, and she blushed at the thought of saying that to a colleague.

"... I barely recognized you," Tosh finished.

Ianto looked down at his jeans and absently slid a finger into the hole at the knee. "Sorry if I frightened you. Tonight's the night I take the suits to the cleaners."

'No, you didn't. I... I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," Ianto said. "Beer?"

"Yes, please!"

 

Ever the gentleman, Ianto went back into the main bar to fetch it for her. Where he ran into Owen, who was just heading into the backroom, a bottle in each fist.

"Owen! So nice of you to get Tosh a beer," Ianto said, plucking one of the bottles from Owen's hands and turning right back around again.

"What the hell!" Owen exclaimed.

"Owen got this for you," Ianto said, pushing the bottle into Tosh's hand and giving Owen an innocent smile when he came storming up a moment later.

"Why, thank you, Owen. That's so sweet of you," Tosh beamed.

Owen looked from one to the other, and then shrugged. "Sure, no problem, luv." He climbed up on a stool next to Tosh and took a long swig of his own beer. Damn, that tasted good. And it felt, well, kind of nice to be relaxing with people he already knew instead of trying to make another frenzied, drunken, doomed-to-be-short-lived connection. At least for now. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"So things were looking pretty bad for me, what with there being three giant alien rats and only one of me. But then I fired my weapon and the bullet passed through the one that was coming at me and the bigger one right behind it, and then I strangled the last one with my bare hands," Owen recounted.

"That's really impressive, Owen," Tosh encouraged.

"Except it's a pack of lies," Ianto said. "We were there, remember?"

Owen pulled a face at Ianto. "You were hiding behind the SUV at the time, you were hardly in a position to see anything."

"I wasn't hiding, I was checking to make sure that they hadn't chewed on the tires and let the air out. We fell for that once, I wasn't going to let..."

"Hush, you two." Tosh held up her hand and answered her phone.

"Jack? What's going on? I see. Yes, sure. No, no problem. No problem at all. " She returned the phone to her pocket, frowning as if there was a problem.

"Well?" prompted Owen.

"Jack isn't coming. Something about an emergency meeting with M16."

"Now?" Ianto said, consulting his watch and rising to his feet. "It must really be an emergency. I'd better go..."

"He said not to bother," Tosh said. "Something about it being so top-secret only the Heads of each agency invited could attend."

"Fortunate for us," Owen said, leaning back and taking a long swig of his beer. "Those governmental meeting are so full of mindless protocol and hot air they can make the end of the world seem boring. Welcome, even."

Ianto frowned. Tosh put her hand over his.

"Ianto, it'll be O.K. If it turns out Jack does need us, he'll call. If not, I guarantee you that by noon tomorrow we'll know everything about what's going on, whether anyone chooses to tell us or not."

Ianto sighed, but then nodded and sat back down.

"Ah, cheer up, Ianto. We're one man down but that makes it easier, actually. We can play in teams of two. Where the hell is Gwen, anyway?" Owen inquired.

"Should be along any minute," Tosh replied.

A half-hour later, they were deep into the next round of beers when Tosh's phone rang again. "That'll be Gwen," she said.

But it wasn't. Tosh said, "Hello" and then switched to Japanese. Owen and Ianto exchanged a look.

She hung up the phone looking decidedly pale. "That was my uncle. My grandfather has been admitted to Hospital."

"What with?" Owen asked, professional interest piqued.

"They don't know yet. Shortness of breath, dizziness, rapid heartbeat."

"Hmmm. And he's in his 80's, right?"

"Nearly 90."

"Quite right then, sending him to A&E to get checked out. Can't fuck about with an old geezer like that."

Tosh looked a little shocked.

"Don't mind him Tosh, we all know his bedside manner is rubbish," Ianto interjected. _'Except for when it's not,_ he added mentally, but wasn't going to say it and give Owen the satisfaction when he was being such a prat. "Do you want to go to your grandfather?"

Tosh nodded. "Yes, I do. But what about..." she waved her arm around, indicating the room, the pool table, the line of beer bottles they'd already consumed.

Surprisingly, it was Owen who answered. "Ah, don't worry about us. We'll be fine. We'll wait for Gwen, have a few more rounds, then call it a night."

"We'll reschedule the tournament for another time," Ianto added. "Go on now."

With a grateful look at both of them, Tosh departed.

 

Another half-hour passed.

"Come on, Owen. It's your turn to get a round. Don't be so cheap."

"Not cheap, just lazy. The bar's all the way over there!"

Ianto rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, alright, fine," Owen sighed. He tapped the bottle Ianto was holding. "Same thing again?"

"Sure."

"I thought you were more of a Scotch drinker."

"Only at work. And only if it's Jack's Scotch."

"Please tell me that's not a euphemism."

Ianto blinked, then laughed out loud.

Owen grinned and slid off his stool.

In a few moments, Owen was back. They both sipped their beers and Ianto picked up where they'd left off.

"Jack's Scotch is vintage, rare, and very expensive. I doubt if even you could afford it, Doctor Harper."

"Still not sure that's not a euphemism, mate."

"Me neither," Ianto replied with a grin. It was Owen's turn to roll his eyes, but there was amusement in them.

They both stared off into space in a companionable silence.

"Looks like we've been stood up," Owen said at length.

"It appears so."

Owen nodded at the pool table. "We could get some practice in."

"We could."

"Care to make it interesting?"

Ianto arched a brow. "How so?"

"Fifty quid and a case of this brew we're drinking to the winner."

Ianto considered it, shook his head. "No way. I'm not that much of a beer drinker. I'm rarely home and when I am I don't need a case taking up valuable space."

"What, then?"

"You win, you can have the cash and the case. I win, I'll take the cash and you clean up after Myfanwy for a week."

Owen wrinkled his nose at the prospect, but really, he encountered grosser things than pterodactyl mess in his line of work on a daily basis. "You're on."

And that was when Owen found out, to his dismay, that Ianto was almost as good at pool as Tosh, their resident systems genius.

In retrospect, Owen realized that he should have known that as detail-obsessed as their teaboy was, that he'd be good at a game that was all maths and angles. Owen had natural talent and a fair bit of luck, but it soon became clear that over the long haul, discipline and precision would win out. He should have quit after one game, but that was never Owen's style, so he went double-or-nothing. And.. ouch.

"Good game," Ianto said when it was all over but the shouting, with a smile that was only a little smug and a strange lack of his usual sarcasm.

"Good game," Owen mumbled, vowing to get some serious practice on his own in before this pool tournament actually took place lest he make an idiot of himself. Or, better yet, find a way to get them to switch it to a basketball tourney.

"Er, I don't exactly have 100 quid on me at the moment," he added.

"I kind of figured. I'll take an I.O.U. After all, I know where you work," Ianto grinned.

Owen rubbed his palms on his jeans. "Right, so. Getting late, in'it? I'd better be off."

Ianto nodded. "I'm sure you have more interesting places go, more interesting people to see."

"That's me, Mr. Popularity. What are you going to do?"

"Go home. Clean something. Read."

Owen chuckled, and then realized he had no idea if Ianto was having him on or not. Again.

"Well, goodnight, then."

"Goodnight, Owen."

Owen strode to the door.

Behind him, he heard Ianto on the phone.

"Hullo, Gwen? Everything alright? Why do I ask? Because you were supposed to be at the pub two hours ago. Ah. Right. You and Rhys had a row and... I understand. You forgot."

Owen shook his head and went out into the chilly night.

\---- ---- ---- ----

iv.

It was _deja vu_ all over again, as the saying goes, but that didn't make it any easier for Owen.

"Christ! Do you ever do any actual work around here?"

"Hmmm, if by "work" you mean "Ianto," I think you can see that I do quite a bit," Jack replied with a toss of his head and a shit-eating grin.

Owen ground his teeth together. "Again, too much skin for first thing in the morning, Jack."

"Again, no such thing. Although to be fair, this is MY office."

"I knocked!"

"Typically," Ianto chimed in, "If people want you to come in after you knock, they say something indicating so. Like, 'Come in.'"

Ianto's tone was infuriatingly deadpan for someone who was currently seated on his boss's desk, his cock in his boss's hand, and his lips red and swollen from the furious making out session that Owen had just interrupted.

"Well, thanks, mates. Thanks for making sure that there is no flat surface in the Hub that I'll ever look at the same way again. Or touch without two pairs of plastic gloves on."

"Might be wise," Ianto intoned, and Owen thought about winging his clipboard at him.

"Owen, come back in half an hour," Jack said. "Unless it's urgent?"

"No, not urgent..." Owen said, but didn't move to leave. The image of the metal clipboard striking Ianto's head was tempting indeed. The younger man wouldn't be able to move out of the way fast enough, not with Jack holding onto that most sensitive piece of his anatomy. In all likelihood there would be blood. Maybe a lot of it.

"Or," Jack suggested, "Unless you're going to join us after all?"

"Join this bloody freakshow? You've got to be fucking kidding me," Owen snarled, and stomped out, slamming the door behind him so hard it rattled in its frame.

"That boy seriously needs to get laid," Jack observed.

"With that attitude, that doesn't seem very likely, does it?" Ianto leaned his head in to pick up the kiss where they left off, and shifted his hips to pick up the stroking where they left off.

"Nope," Jack murmured against Ianto's lips. "Now _you_ , on the other hand..."

\---- ---- ---- ----  
v.

Ianto was deep in the maze of the Archives, standing on tiptoe in order to slide a box onto a high shelf, when he heard someone come up behind him. He didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

"What do you want, Owen?"

"To talk to you. Now."

"And you couldn't just use the comm? You had no trouble barking orders to Tosh and Gwen over it earlier."

"They were in the field and in danger, you wanker."

"It works the same whether someone's in the field or the building, you know."

It was the same verbal sparring they always engaged in but for some reason Owen found it pissing him off even more than usual. So much so he that was having trouble coming up with a response that wasn't just an incoherent string of profanities. He ground his teeth and glared at Ianto's back.

Ianto was having no such trouble. "Or maybe you thought you'd get another free show? Sorry to disappoint. But Jack will be back in an hour if you..."

That did it. Owen dropped the crate he was holding and launched himself at Ianto, knocking the younger man face-first into the rack of shelves. The metal framework, which had been bolted into the floor by their more paranoid predecessors, tottered but remained standing.

"I didn't come here for a goddamned show," Owen snarled.

 _'Or a punch-up,'_ he thought, _Not really._ Though now that he had their insufferable assistant shoved against the shelving, his arm wrapped around Ianto's neck and adrenaline coursing through his body, it didn't seem like a bad idea at all.

Ianto swallowed hard but otherwise remained still.

"Let go, Owen."

Owen ignored him. "Believe it or not, Teaboy, I'm here on a _work-related_ matter. Remember work?"

"I'm an Archivist. I'm in the Archives. As I have been, all day. You do the maths. But first, let go."

"Some Archivist," Owen snorted.

Ianto stiffened. Owen knew that his words had hit a nerve that no amount of physical violence could. Teaboy, excuse me, "Archivist" could ignore any number of crude insults and humiliating jibes with unflappable aplomb, but hint that his job performance was suffering, or that he'd--god forbid--made a mistake--and he got his knickers in a knot. Well, he was going to hate this.

"Explain."

"No, _you_ explain," Owen hissed into Ianto's ear, then released his hold, took several quick steps back, and kicked the crate over to him.

Ianto turned and glanced down at it, then over at Owen--probably to make sure he wasn't going to be attacked again--then knelt down beside the crate. It was wooden, weathered and old.

"Recognize it?"

"Of course I do," Ianto replied, but made a careful study of the label all the same. Where alien artifacts were involved, you could never be too cautious.

Satisfied, Ianto opened the lid. Inside, as he'd expected, were several jars made of what appeared to be thick glass, carefully stoppered and sealed with wax. He picked up one and held it to the light. It was empty.

"Oh no!"

Owen stood, arms folded, watching him, the beginnings of a nasty smile tugging at his lips.

"There must be some mistake."

"Bloody right there is. And you made it."

Ianto held a second bottle up to the light, then a third.

"All empty..." he murmured, trying to piece together how this could have happened.

"No shit, Sherlock. And now alien pathogens of unknown origin and intent are loose somewhere in the Hub. Or possibly all over Cardiff by now."

Ianto returned the bottles to the crate and rose to his feet.

"What happened?"

"You tell me."

"Might I point out, Owen, that when you signed that crate out last week, the jars were not empty. Just as they've been not empty for the last thirty-four, twelve, and one-point-five years, respectively. What did you do, open them?"

"What kind of moron do you think I am? Look again. The bloody jars are still sealed in wax and stamped with your bloody seal!"

"The Head Archivist's seal," Ianto corrected. "I personally only sealed the last one..."

"I don't give a rat's arse who sealed it, they were sealed and and you certified that they were safe to handle when you give them to me! When clearly, they were nothing of the kind. I could be infected with an alien virus right now! I could be dying!"

Ianto shook his head. "You're making far too much noise to be dying. Besides, the material that those jars are made of is impenetrable to every organic substance, inorganic substance, liquid and gas known to Torchwood. Nothing has ever gotten out of them before."

"So you say!"

"I do. The one has been happily sitting in the Archives for thirty-four years. And its contents only got loose on your watch? You must have done something. And now you're trying to act like it's my fault. Well, it's not going to work."

"I followed the instructions you gave me. To the letter. And yet I walk in this afternoon and find them all empty. So yeah, it is your fault. You never should have given them to me if that was a possibility. And don't say you did it because I asked. It's your responsibility to make sure that the dangerous stuff in the Archives stays in the Archives!"

Ianto looked away, and Owen sensed he was winning.

"Admit it, Ianto. You blew it. And we have no idea what the consequences will be. Sickness, death, alien possession on a massive scale are all distinct possibilities. Even if they turn out to be harmless, it's going to cost a shit-load of cash and a lot of man-hours to determine that. And it'll be on your head."

Ianto folded his own arms; looked Owen directly in the eye.

"No."

"What?"

"I'm admitting nothing. You stored them improperly, or ran some wee little test on them that was forbidden, just to see what would happen. We'll take this to Jack and let him sort it."

"JACK!" Owen roared. "That's your answer for everything, isn't it?"

"It's a good one," Ianto replied, just before Owen's head rammed him in the stomach and knocked him to the floor.

Ianto cried out as his head hit metal when he fell, and that was good, in Owen's opinion. Even better was when Owen straddled Ianto and got his hands around his throat, causing him to choke and gasp for air.

Not so good was when Ianto's fist came up and slammed against the side of Owen's face. The pain was intense and literally blinding, but that just made Owen angrier than ever. He shifted his weight so that more of it was resting on Ianto, pinning him down, then grabbed the flailing fist with one hand and used the other to continue to throttle his opponent.

"Admit it, Ianto," he snarled. "Admit it and I'll stop."

On some level Owen was aware that this request make didn't make much sense, because Ianto couldn't breathe, much less speak. But Ianto was resourceful, he could find a way if he wanted to, Owen had no doubt.

Apparently, Ianto didn't want to. He continued to struggle under Owen, trying first to twist to the side to dislodge him, then bringing his knees up in an effort to buck him off that nearly succeeded until Owen pressed harder on his throat. Ianto collapsed onto his back, the last of his oxygen gone, and with it, his strength.

At this point, Owen relented a little, loosening his grip just enough so that Ianto could get some air before he passed out.

Not that Ianto appreciated the gesture. His breathing was desperate and ragged, but he glowered at Owen with cold fury in his eyes. The last time he had looked at Owen like that, he had proceeded to shoot him. Owen found himself feeling a little frightened, and it wasn't a feeling that he enjoyed. Especially in relation to Ianto, who he usually found as frightening as a dishrag. Well, he'd wipe that look off his face, wouldn't he?

Owen slammed the wrist he was holding into the concrete floor as hard as he could and was rewarded with a satisfying "crunch" and a cry of pain. Slowly, deliberately, Owen, began to squeeze Ianto's throat again. He'd make him black out this time, he didn't care what happened...

Except he hadn't counted on what _did_ happen. Owen found that he was getting aroused. Very aroused. What the fuck?

Ianto picked that moment to push up against Owen again, smacking painfully into Owen's erection, and Owen yelped. Ianto bucked again. Owen cursed, then wrestled him back onto the floor, where he proceeded to grind his erection into Ianto's stomach.

 _That_ got his attention. Ianto froze. They stared at each other for a long moment, both breathing hard, for different reasons.

Ianto licked his lips like he was going to say something, but as he couldn't get any air, nothing came out.

Owen didn't feel like sticking around to find out what it might be. He rolled off Ianto and, trying hard not to wince, rose to his feet. It wasn't the first time he'd gotten aroused while fighting, he told himself. The adrenaline sent blood coursing _everywhere_ , after all. It didn't mean anything more than that.

"Make an appointment for us with Jack, Teaboy," he tossed over his shoulder as he left. "I'm bored with this subject now."

When Owen reached the door, he flicked all the light switches, plunging the Archives into darkness.

"Bastard," came Ianto's voice from a distance.

Owen smirked and kept going.

\---- ---- ---- ----

vi.

He should have known to expect it when he least expected it--Ianto's revenge. But it had been several weeks since he'd stitched up the deep cut in the back of Ianto's head and put a cast on his broken wrist (not that Ianto had wanted to let Owen near him, but Jack had intercepted Ianto as he was attempting to sneak out to A&E and used his considerable powers of persuasion to get him to stay) and things had returned to normal. Or at least what passed for normal around Torchwood.

There had been no recriminations from Jack for the fight--in fact, he had seemed more amused than anything by the sight of the two of them, clutching ice packs to their heads--as they all met in Jack's office later that fateful evening. Jack had been less amused by the escaped alien pathogens, for which he had no explanation either, and he had charged Owen and Ianto with finding out what happened and doing any necessary clean-up. Together.

Massive eye-roll on Ianto's part and Owen had started to protest, but then thought better of it. His head was aching six ways from Sunday and he suddenly felt too tired to argue with anyone else, much less their Captain, who could be more stubborn than Owen at his worst and had the power to fire him to boot. Had, in fact, fired him once, and it had been one of the worst experiences of Owen's life. Maybe not _the_ worst, but right up there.

"Cheer up, mate," Owen said, catching sight of Ianto's dour expression as they left the office. "It could have been worse."

Sometimes a good row is just what is needed to clear the air, and Owen was feeling almost cheerful again. Especially now that he knew he wasn't going to be fired or even suspended. If he could scratch "not infected by alien virus" off the list too, this would be a pretty good day after all.

"No, it couldn't," Ianto had mumbled, but he too was exhausted and there wasn't much heat in it.

They both had gone home to their respective flats and the next day, in true Torchwood fashion, they had set about investigating the Case of the Missing Alien Pathogens while pretending that nothing unusual had occurred between them the day before. They were perhaps a little more careful about what they said to each other (not polite, Owen didn't "do" polite) at first, but that hadn't lasted long either.

Several days of numerous medical tests on the team, exhaustive scans of the base and careful monitoring of local news reports for anything that could be pathogen-related had revealed no clues to the mystery, and eventually Owen and Ianto were forced to turn their attention to other, more urgent matters. Aside from complaining at length that his cast itched whenever Owen was in earshot, Ianto hadn't mentioned the fight, and if Owen thought of the incident at all, he thought it was over.

He thought wrong.

 

Owen started awake, the sick sense that he wasn't alone in his flat curling in the pit of his stomach. He bolted to a sitting position and looked around.

_"Christ!"_

There was a large figure looming in the darkness, just a few feet from his bed. Owen swallowed hard and glanced from the figure to the dresser, where he'd tossed his wallet--and more importantly, his weapon--when he'd come in. The figure was close, but Owen he thought had a good chance of making it if he moved fast. He tensed up, ready to spring.

"Don't bother," the figure said, holding up a gun, loosely, by the grip.

Owen's gun.

But at least the figure wasn't pointing it at him, and better yet, Owen would recognize that particular combination of deadpan delivery and overlong Welsh vowels anywhere. He relaxed a little.

"Ianto? How the bloody hell did you get in here?"

"With a key. Specifically, the spare one you keep in your desk."

"What the fuck were you doing in my desk?"

"Looking for your key. Didn't expect to find it so easily, though. Really, Owen, that's just one step above hiding it under the doormat."

Owen sighed. He'd been more frightened than he cared to admit, and he was still a bit, but now he was getting annoyed as well.

"Ianto, it's too bleedin' early in the morning for games. What the hell do you want? If you left something here you could have just ..."

Owen never finished the sentence, because Ianto flew at him with a speed that Owen wouldn't have believed possible and knocked him flat on his back.

Owen rolled to the side but Ianto pushed him back down and plopped down on top of him.

It was just like before, only now Ianto was the one pinning Owen's wrists and holding him down with the weight of his body. As Ianto was taller and had several stone on Owen, it was a dismayingly effective move. Ianto's cast ground Owen's left wrist into the mattress in a way that would have been painful if they were on a flat surface, but if they'd been on a flat surface, Owen might have been able to get some leverage to push back. As it was, he was reduced to undignified squirming.

"Is that what you think this is? A game?" There was an edge of menace in Ianto's voice that sent a chill down Owen's spine, and Owen remembered (too late) (again) that this was the man was responsible for the bullet-shaped scar on his shoulder. At least the gun was nowhere in view but there was a distinct possibility that Ianto would break Owen's wrist in return, or bash him in the face with his cast, which is probably what Owen have done if their positions were reversed.

Shit. He'd have to try to talk his way out of this.

"Ianto, I..." Owen was abruptly cut off when Ianto kissed him, hard.

"Mmmph!" It might have been a cry of surprise, or a protest, or some combination of both, even Owen wasn't sure. But he was pretty sure there would be bruising tomorrow. So why wasn't he trying to fight back? His options were rather limited at the moment, but he could always bite. He should bite.

He didn't bite.

Ianto jerked his head away and Owen gasped.

"Always a joke to you, aren't I?" Ianto's voice was low, dangerous. Owen wasn't sure how to answer that in a way that didn't get him in more trouble. "No," would be a lie, and they both knew it. "Yes," seemed like a bad idea just on principle.

"Um..." he essayed, but then got stuck. Talking his way out of stuff had never been his forte.

"It's. Not. Fucking. Funny!"

No, it wasn't fucking funny, Owen was in complete agreement, especially when Ianto mashed his lips with his own again. It got even less funny when Ianto took his hand away from his right wrist and Owen had a great opportunity to punch Teaboy right off him--which he didn't take because Teaboy yanked the flannel sheet off Owen and pressed his hand right up against Owen's pajama-clad cock.

Owen sucked in a breath. He wasn't sure where this was going and Ianto's expression, inscrutable as ever, wasn't giving him any clues. Castration seemed a distinct possibility. So was--unbelievable as it would have seemed under most other circumstances--sex. Maybe sex _then_ castration. Or maybe...

Ianto started rubbing Owen's cock with slow, deliberate strokes and Owen let out the breath he'd been holding with a _woosh_. His body responded to the touch and he felt himself starting to get hard. He bit back a moan. This was _Ianto_ , for chrissakes. This could not be happening. It really couldn't.

Except it was... and then it wasn't. Ianto took his hand away and Owen made a helpless little noise of want that wasn't even dignified enough to be called a moan. Ianto knelt up, freeing Owen's other wrist, and inclined his head, watching him. At this angle, there was enough light from the streetlights outside to see that Ianto's eyes had gone a deep blue around wide pupils. Ianto arched a formidable eyebrow--a question.

Owen didn't even pretend to think it over. He nodded, and in case that wasn't clear enough, arched his hips upward.

Ianto's lips twitched and he slid downward, pulling Owen's pajama bottoms down as he went. Owen's cock sprang free and Ianto brushed it with his cheek, then tilted his head up to gaze at Owen; licked his lips. Those goddam lips, which (Owen now knew) were as soft as a girl's and nearly as red, after kissing. After kissing _him_. WTF?!?

"Tease," Owen growled.

Ianto smiled, wide and beautiful with just enough of a a feral edge to make Owen wonder if he was going to regret this, and if so, in how many ways?. Then Ianto proceeded to slide his mouth down Owen's cock, deliberately, deliciously, and the hell with regrets.

Damn if Teaboy didn't know what he was doing. Damn it, damn it. "DAMMIT!" Owen cried out as Ianto took in his full length and pulled back off, just as deliberately. Then swirled his tongue around the tip and took Owen all in again. 

Rinse, repeat, and then Ianto picked up the pace so that it was relentless. Owen thought he might explode on the spot, it was that intense. And though he was pretty certain he was no longer in danger of being beaten to a pulp, he was also pretty sure that he still didn't like Ianto very much and that _pissed him off_ ... and that only served to make this insane but undeniably hot encounter even hotter.

"Fuck! Oh, FUCK!" Owen thrust into Ianto's mouth the way he would throw a punch and Ianto didn't flinch; he just shifted backward without a hitch in the rhythm he'd established. Owen thrust again, just because it felt good

Ianto upped the ante by stroking Owen's balls with his fingertips, and Owen shouted some other choice swear words. Then Ianto sucked hard and _squeezed_ and Owen thought he should probably hold out longer to save face or something but the hell with that.

Owen came, back arching, shouting something that he hoped wasn't Ianto's name but probably was.

And then Owen woke up in his bed, alone, with the sheets thrown to the floor and his pajamas sticky and this hasn't happened since he was a teenager and what the FUCK?!? He bolted from the bed, tossed the sheets into the laundry bin, then went to take a quick shower before work.

Where, undoubtedly, Ianto would be waiting with coffee and a pitiful "see-what-I-manage-to-do-with-only-one-hand" expression on his face. Normally, that idea alone would be enough to piss Owen off.

Today, he found he was sort of looking forward to it.


End file.
